


There's No Rush

by thatsenough



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:03:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3148472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsenough/pseuds/thatsenough
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU | New Orleans, where the speed limit isn't to be trifled with, and sometimes a cop will just take your breath away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's No Rush

She could never been imagined being so affected after getting pulled over.

The plainclothes cop walks up to her driver’s side door slowly, almost leisurely. Silver-rimmed aviators frame a face full of attitude, irritated that someone had to do something this stupid right in front of her. With a disdainful sigh, a slight Cajun accent says, “License, registration.” The blonde cop turns away, muttering a response to the squawk of her hip-mounted radio, and glances back towards her car, an unmarked sedan with a wide set of police lights sitting deep on the dashboard. Waving her hand, a car door slams, and the officer clips the mouthpiece back on the open flap of her leather jacket.

Ali is a little overcome, she has to admit, by the insanity of her day, the demeanor of this police officer, the fact that she was certainly going to be late for this floral pickup now. “I’m sorry, Officer, but I don’t—“

“It’s Detective. Detective Harris. License and registration, please.”

There is an awkward fumbling in her glove compartment, then some more as she digs through her purse. “I’m sorry, _Detective_ , but I was just on my way to the flower shop right up the—“

“You were doing 58. Do you know what the speed limit ‘round here is?” The detective looks bored as she glances at Ali’s information. “It’s 25. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Now she’s sweating. She is definitely not going to make it to the shop before four, and so in a moment of desperation, she pulls out her cell phone. Ali isn’t sure if there is some particular protocol for getting a speeding ticket. Is she allowed to make a quick call? She figures she couldn’t piss off this— _hot_ —detective anymore than she already had, and dials the number.

Back at the sedan, the detective opens her car door and plops down into the driver’s seat to run the plates of the attractive woman she’s pulled over. Her dark-haired partner has a foot up on the dashboard and is texting furiously. “Kelley said you’re coming over for dinner tonight,” comes her lilting, gravelly tone. “Yeah? What’s she making?” Harris says distractedly, propping the license up on the in-vehicle laptop screen so that she can type . “I think coq au vin? Probably also her étouffée, since you’re coming. Even though I don’t think it goes.” The other woman swipes the license, and holds it to her own sun-glassed face. “This our ‘perp’?” “Yeah. Hope, put it back. I need to see the license number.”

Solo rattles off the string of letters and numbers quickly, waits for her partner to nod, and goes back to studying the woman’s photo. “She’s hot, Harris.” The blonde snorts. “Yeah, and not too good at paying parking tickets on time.” Both women smile. Handing back the card, Solo remarks, “She looks a little like that girl that we saw the other night outside the Oak. The one that was eyeballing you, and then got all catty when I put my arm around you.” Laughing as the ticket prints out, Harris recalls, “But no one can stand up to that glare you gave her. Poor girl will probably never leave her house again.” She rips the ticket off the portable printer. “Alright, let me go do this, so we can get back to **not** solving murders.” The bitterness evident in her voice, she opens the car door to leave, but is stopped by Solo’s hand on her arm.

“Ash. Ask her out.”

“Are you fucking kidding? I’m about to give her a $350 speeding ticket, courtesy of the city of New Orleans. She’ll rip out my throat.”

“Just do it.”

Harris walks back to the vehicle, and notices that the woman is on the phone. It seems like she might be getting yelled at, so she hangs back a minute, out of chivalrous respect. And then she chuckles in wonderment at herself. Yeah, this Alexandra Krieger _is_ gorgeous. But it’s irrelevant and unprofessional for her to cruise someone she just wrote up. And the idea of being unprofessional seemed like the sort of thing that could make this traffic beat demotion last even longer. Since neglecting to follow SOP is what got the two female homicide cops stuck working a speed trap in the first place, she certainly wasn’t willing to risk it.

And then, the call ends, and she walks the rest of the way to the woman’s car, and she can’t help herself. Her face is a little red from the heated discussion she’s just finished. “You crying?” Ali turns, startled to see the cop back so soon. “What? Oh, no, just…I fucking hate being yelled at.” Harris nods in understanding, and hands her back the license and registration in the ticket envelope.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. It can’t be helped. Your plates got flagged by the radar detector. But, um,“—now Solo’s words, and more importantly, her tone, are in Ash’s ears—“if you take it to traffic court, I won’t show up, so you might be able to get it knocked down some. The signs aren’t so clearly marked up here.”

Ali looks up the woman, who now looks a little nervous. It’s cute, and endearing. “Uh, thanks. I’ll do that.” Almost without thinking, she touches the officer’s hand. It’s meant to be a gesture of thanks, since the woman won’t meet her eyes, but something else entirely happens. There’s some kind of electric energy to the touch, but instead of pulling away, both women lean unconsciously in towards each other.

The cop clears her throat after a few seconds, and bends down a little so that her face is more on frame with the window. “Uh. My name’s Ashlyn. Most people call me Ash.” Ali looks up at her, and replies teasingly, “Who said I wanted to know?”

“Just a guess, since you’re holding my hand.” Ali hadn’t noticed that she was doing that. “And I’m guessing it ain’t because you need the emotional support. Not like this is your first ticket,” she finishes off with a slight grin, a dimple revealing itself in her cheek and she turned away slightly. “Well, I’m Ali. And I can’t help it, you’re sort of beautiful.”

The two lock eyes again, and Ashlyn pulls off her aviators, locking eyes with Ali’s deep, sparkling brown ones. “When is your shift over, Detective Ashlyn Harris?”

A few minutes later, when the driver’s door swings open again, Solo glances over at her partner, who’s got a stupid, shit-eating look on her face. “Was I right?” Met with silence, she picks up her phone from her lap and sends a text to her wife. Ashlyn won’t be joining them for dinner after all, but might swing by for breakfast.

\----

It’s 11:20pm, about five minutes after Ashlyn had gotten into Ali’s car outside her precinct. All was dark, but for some twinkling lights in the bushes that fenced in the porch as the pair pulls up into the driveway of a modest two-story in the Lower French Quarter.

“You got a housemate or something?” Ashlyn asks, as they got out of the car. Ali shakes her head, seeming more bashful than she had when she had propositioned Ashlyn that afternoon. “Just me. Come on in.” Ashlyn grabs the light duffel that sat between her legs on the short ride over.

Inside the front door, Ali hits a light switch, and then turns around to find Ash, who’s just closed the door behind her. Ali’s eyes meet hers, and Ashlyn is pushed back against the front door by the shorter brunette, who is surprisingly strong. Their lips connect, and the making out is gentle, unhurried, but there’s something behind it. Neither of them can identify it, but it’s compelling, almost magnetic.

After three or so minutes of slightly bruised lips, Ali reluctantly pulls away.

“Come bathe with me?”

Ashlyn, still recovering herself, cocks her head slightly at the question, then slowly nods, eyes burning with something indescribable. “Take off your gun.” The two hold one another’s gaze as Ashlyn acquiesces. Unclipping her firearm, she reaches down wordlessly to the duffel bag she’s dropped, pulling out the portable gun safe.

Ali takes a few steps back, seating herself on the stairs, eyes staying locked on her guest, as Ashlyn then shrugs out of her brown leather jacket, and, folding it carefully, lays it across the bag. Even somewhat masked the form-fitting gray button-down, the physique of the cop is doing things to Ali’s body that her mind can’t quite keep up with.

Ash approaches her, now without gun, badge, or jacket, and looks at her somewhat expectantly. “Come upstairs,” Ali breathes.

In the master bath, Ali undresses slowly, her back to Ashlyn, with a shyness that belies her earlier bravado. As she shrugs out of her work blouse, she feels fingers trace the snaking tattoo on her back, and those fingers follow the ink to her ribs. “Gorgeous,” Ash mutters as she walks around Ali’s half-naked body. “The tattoo, or…something else?” Ali can feel the heat rushing to her face, as Ashlyn’s eyes darken, and she erases the distance between them, dragging her fingers up Ali’s sides and stopping at her face.

Pulling the shorter woman into another gentle kiss, Ashlyn begins to unbutton her own shirt. When they part for a breath a few seconds later, it’s Ali’s turn to stare in awe, as tattoos cover most of the blonde’s arms and back, with one particularly impressive piece creeping over the tops of her shoulders. “Oh, my.” Ali’s fingers speak louder than she can. “They’re lovely,” she whispers, running her own digits up Ashlyn’s arms.

Laying a kiss on each cheek, Ali walks across the bathroom to turn on the water. Steam quickly fills the bathroom as the two women finish disrobing. Ashlyn’s face betrays her jealousy. “What’s wrong?”

“You have _two_ taps?” the Cajun-accented voice points out with incredulity, pointing to the dual shower heads gracing the dark tiled shower. “You never know when more is necessary.” Ali replied with a small grin. “Now, get in.”

She pulls Ashlyn all the way into the shower, and pushes her gently against the far wall. She directs the head slowly, so that the right stream was angled more towards Ashlyn’s body, those lust-filled green—or were they hazel?—eyes boring into her.

Ali begins to slowly lather up the beige sponge, and drags it across her chest, while an increasingly aroused Ash looks on in fixed silence. Ali continues to tease her, rubbing the sponge and the bar of soap over her skin, slick with the hot water but also the anticipatory sweat. She is so attentive to the rapt look Ash is giving her that she drops the soap, and the white bar skids across the dark floor with a dull squeak.

Ash doesn’t bother to contain the devious smile that slips onto her face, so to put her in her place, Ali presses her naked back against Ash's naked front, and bends over to pick up the soap, pushing her ass firmly into Ashlyn’s groin. The gasp and instant clamping of fingers into her hips lets Ali know that her motions had the desired effect.

Only once she's completely clean does Ali turn towards her guest, at which point she begins to wash Ashlyn. The profound intimacy of the moment doesn’t escape either one of them, and while she sponges at the strong, heavily inked arms, Ali keeps her gaze down. She gets through both arms, and is turning her attention to Ash's midsection, when something breaks inside of Ash and she pulls Ali back up to her. Their lips meet for only the third time that night, but this is nothing like the gentle kisses downstairs, or the hesitant peck before the shower. Ashlyn makes a careful but firm grab around Ali's throat while their lips and tongues duel passionately. It excites Ali in a way that takes her by surprise, but all she can really think about it the feeling of being in this woman’s arms and having her tongue do the things it’s doing to her mouth, and now her neck, and then back to her mouth again.

They break for air, deep breaths rattling in both their chests. The water’s starting to go a bit cold now, so they rinse quickly, and carefully exit the shower. Handing her a towel, Ali asks, “Do you want to go to bed with me?”

At Ash's seeming hesitation, she adds, “We can’t have sex tonight. You understand, right? I just…”

“No, that’s fine,” Ash says quickly. “We only just met. It’s ok, really.” The shyness that characterized some of their earlier exchanges has been erased, and Ashlyn accepts the offered sweatpants and t-shirt.

Walking into the dark bedroom, they wordlessly settle into Ali’s queen bed, snuggling into one another as Ash's tattooed forearm holds Ali around her midsection. She plays with the blonde’s fingers for a moment, and then rolls over to look at her in dim light emanating from the partially closed bathroom door.

“You feel nice in my bed.”

"Yeah,” Ash says, "this feels..."

"It feels _right_."

"Yeah. There's no rush. For anything.”


End file.
